


Safe From Harm

by Lila82



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lila82/pseuds/Lila82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Octavia hash it out after Bellamy and Lincoln leave for Mount Weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe From Harm

 

* * *

 

Octavia is bruised and sore, a wicked looked gash running the length of one cheek, but otherwise whole. Still, she has the energy to glare at Clarke when she steps through the entrance to the med-bay. 

“What do you want?” she hisses, both from the pain and the anger, as Clarke takes a seat next to her.

She runs her eyes over Octavia’s battered arms, the small cuts on her chin and mouth, and her esteem for Bellamy’s sister only grows. She knows they’re at odds, but she still feels a kinship with Octavia; there are few people in her life that would fight so hard to make their voices heard. “That had to hurt.”

Octavia doesn’t flinch as she rolls her eyes, even though there are still specks of blood in her eyelashes. Clarke clasps her hands in her lap to keep from brushing them away. Battered as she is, she’s not sure the other girl won’t pull a Raven and slam her fist into Clarke’s face. “Like you care,” Octavia sneers and looks away, suddenly finds the wall fascinating. 

Point, Octavia. She’s not wrong. Clarke _did_ make a big show of shutting down her heart, making Bellamy think his life was meaningless, and she’s not sure her feelings have changed. She won’t let herself love anyone else, but it doesn’t mean she can’t care. Rescuing her people from the mountain means bringing everyone home, even if Bellamy has to save himself. “Bellamy is strong,” Clarke starts but Octavia cuts her off, her tone calm but still terrifying. 

“You sent him to die,” she continues. She’s no longer gazing at the cold metal walls, but staring at Clarke with eyes that are ice and fire at the same time. “You sent both the people I love to die.” 

Clarke swallows hard, but doesn’t look away. She can’t imagine what it’s like for Octavia. For her whole life Bellamy was all she had, and then Lincoln showed her a world she never knew was possible. And Clarke sent them into the woods, into the mountain, with the full knowledge that they might not come back. The thought of it makes her, the old her, want to cry, but there’s no room in her life for tears anymore. She’s a leader. She’s strong. She has to face the things that she’s done. “We didn’t have another choice,” Clarke argues. “The Mountain Men have the acid fog, the guns and cameras. There wasn’t another way.”

Octavia shakes her head and winces softly, probably because the movement makes her head ache even more. “Maybe,” she says, concedes the point. “But you didn’t even say thank you. I know you’re grieving, but that doesn’t mean you forget who you are.”

Clarke bites her lip rather than state the obvious: she has no idea who she is anymore. She thought she knew, when she fell from the sky, when she watched Charlotte die, when she and Bellamy built something from nothing, tents and a wall and a dropship that became a _home_. But she shut the door on Bellamy; she told him that his life didn’t matter; she gave him a death sentence. She’s still coming to terms with the girl she’s become.

“Finn’s dead,” Clarke whispers. It’s her turn to burn, for her heart to entomb itself in ice while a hot, scorching flame blazes behind her eyes. She grabs Octavia’s wrist, heedless of her friend’s cry, of the pain she’s causing another person she cares about. “Don’t you get it? His death needs to be worth something.”

Octavia’s eyes water, and Clarke thinks she’s won, but it’s only because her fingernails are digging into a cut on Octavia’s arm. “Boo hoo, Clarke,” Octavia sneers. “You think you’re the only one who killed someone that you love? My mom died because of me. Bell shot the chancellor because of me. He’s on the ground, one of us, because of me. Maybe I didn’t ask for it, but that’s the way it is.” She jerks her arm free, eyes narrowing into a glare. “You want to risk people’s lives? Fine. But make their sacrifice worth it. Don’t send them off thinking that they don’t matter.” 

They do matter, but Clarke can’t let them see. She can’t tell Octavia how hard this is, that it’s always been hard and always will be hard, but Bellamy made it seem like she could bear it. “Love is weakness,” she says instead, repeats Lexa’s advice, hopes Octavia understands. Octavia is young and brave, and she gives her love away too easily. It’s only going to destroy her. When she continues, Clarke barely recognizes her own voice, raw and broken, as she tries again. “Love gets people killed.” 

It’s Octavia’s turn to grab Clarke’s wrist, digs in her nails to get her attention. “That’s bullshit,” she says, low and lethal, twists Clarke’s wrist hard so tears pool in her eyes. “You should be crying, Clarke. Love doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong. It gives you a something to fight for.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I didn’t fight for Finn.”

The tears are slowly sliding down her cheeks, but it has nothing to do with the pain in her wrist. She’s grieved Finn’s death, but not what it made her become, and when she’s confronted with it, the tears won’t stop. 

Octavia’s voice is softer when she speaks again, gentle, not unlike the way Clarke likes to remember her mother’s. “What you did for Finn was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen someone do.” 

“I killed him,” Clarke says flatly.

“You saved him too. You know what would have happened if the Grounders had kept him.”

Clarke closes her eyes at the memory of Lincoln’s words: hands, fire, tongue, eyes, knives, swords… _I’ve never known anyone to survive until the sword…_

“I didn’t see anyone else step up,” Octavia adds. She’s looking at her when Clarke opens her eyes, but there’s no pity there, just sympathy, pride, a bit of awe, and it only makes more tears fall. She saved Finn from the Grounders’ wrath only to condemn Bellamy to the Mountain’s.

“What if Bellamy doesn’t make it?”

Octavia looks like she might slap her, but she only drops Clarke’s wrist and crosses her arms over her chest. “Bell? Die in the mountain? Please. You know my brother. He wouldn’t lower himself to get killed by a bunch of psychos who’re afraid of sunlight." Her mouth is relaxed, but her eyes are still hard. “And when he gets back, you’re going to tell him that you’re thankful for all he does. Got it?”

It goes unsaid that Clarke will thank Lincoln too.

Clarke nods, brushes the tears off her face. “I can tell you’re related. You both have a knack for impassioned speeches.” 

Octavia smiles and Clarke smiles back, feels some of the tension ease out of the room. She can live without Octavia’s friendship, but she can’t lose her as an ally. 

“I don’t want to put more on your shoulders, but Kane asked me to spy on the Grounders.” Octavia frowns, clearly sorry for sharing more bad news, but Clarke’s doesn’t blame her. There are so many moving parts in her camp; she needs all the help she can get keeping them in line. 

“Okay,” Clarke says, manages not to sigh. Or curse Kane. Or run out of the med-bay and into the rain, run until that mutant gorilla puts her out of her misery. She didn’t choose this, but it’s her life. There are too many people depending on her; there are too many people in her heart to give up. Instead, she puts on her mask, the calm, focused face she’s forced to wear, and forces steel into her voice. “We’ll figure something out together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short coda to the most recent episode, ie, a brief study of Clarke and Octavia, and their views on love and weakness. While this story is much shorter than my usual fic, and almost entirely dialogue, I think it came out well. And upon further reflection, this is a really good song for Octavia/Lincoln’s relationship, and what all us Bellarke ‘shippers believe is simmering under the surface. Title courtesy of Massive Attack. Enjoy.


End file.
